Silencing the Survivor: Breaking Down Tactics of Control and Invalidation

When individuals share their personal experiences, especially those marked by trauma, they often encounter responses that subtly—or sometimes overtly—attempt to reshape or soften their narratives. About a month ago, I wrote about reclaiming my voice after realizing I endured years of Munchausen by Proxy abuse—a form of mistreatment where a caregiver fabricates or induces health issues in another person, often a child, to gain attention or sympathy. My adoptive mother’s recent comment struck me, both for its content and the way it attempts to rewrite my narrative.

By closely examining her words, I hope to shed light on manipulative tactics often associated with narcissistic behavior—tactics that aim to control, invalidate, and undermine survivors, particularly when they speak publicly about trauma. Through this breakdown, I want to help readers recognize specific harmful behaviors, such as guilt-tripping, gaslighting, conditional care, parentification, shaming, and identity devaluation, all of which I’ve personally experienced within the adoptive context. These patterns reveal how narcissistic tendencies can subtly shape relationships, leaving lasting impacts on those affected.

Below is a photo of the comments. I will highlight specific behaviors in this article as they provide insight into common tactics used to invalidate and undermine survivors’ experiences, especially within complex family dynamics. While the comment dares me to share it, my choice to post this isn’t in response to that challenge. Instead, I’m sharing it on my own terms to illuminate these patterns for readers, using it as a learning tool rather than giving weight to their words.

Manipulation and Guilt

The comment begins with recounting supposed sacrifices: “When you were young, you went to a neuropsychologist for help with homeschooling…” and “99% of your medical appointments were for your cleft palate…” From there, it lists medical appointments, surgeries, and other specific examples of care, such as “I spent every day with you at the hospital then went to the Ronald McDonald house to sleep. Six weeks.” This tactic makes me feel indebted or guilty for having any negative feelings. By positioning herself as the self-sacrificing parent, she implies that I owe her appreciation, compliance, or even silence in response. She reinforces this feeling of guilt by stating, “I wanted to remind you of what they were,” framing her role as the sole, tireless caregiver and subtly suggesting that I’m ungrateful for not acknowledging her efforts.

This sense of indebtedness feeds into another commonly used tactic—gaslighting, which further attempts to diminish survivors’ experiences.

Gaslighting

A pattern of gaslighting begins with the line, “But you are the only one who has gotten so extremely upset.” Here, she isolates me as the “problem” compared to my siblings, dismissing my experiences as extreme or irrational. This statement makes me question the validity of my emotional responses, implying that they are exaggerated or unfounded. Later, she escalates this gaslighting with phrases like “baseless and fictional accusations,” overtly denying my perspective and attempting to rewrite my reality as invalid.

Additionally, the line “You have selected now to use this name, Vesna, which was an orphanage name for a little girl that nobody there cared about” undermines my identity, making it seem as though my choice to embrace my birth name is unworthy or insignificant. By framing my heritage as something devoid of value, she invalidates my journey of self-discovery and healing.

Gaslighting attempts to make survivors doubt their feelings, weakening their confidence and undermining their sense of reality.

Conditional Care and Parentification

One of the most jarring aspects of the comment is, “It is really sad to admit but we have regretted adopting you…” This is a prime example of conditional care, a form of caregiving with the expectation of a return, as she implies her love and support were contingent on me meeting her expectations. In this framing, adoption was something I was supposed to be “grateful” for rather than a selfless, loving act. She blames her unhappiness on me by expressing regret, invalidating my right to voice grievances.

Furthermore, the line “we don’t expect any sort of gratitude or appreciation” is a veiled attempt at narcissism. Though she claims not to expect gratitude, the statement heavily implies that she does, subtly demanding compliance and suggesting I owe her for her efforts.

This expectation continues in the form of parentification, where she recounts the “burden” she bore: “I spent every day with you at the hospital, then went to the Ronald McDonald House to sleep. Six weeks.” By sharing this, she implies that I should feel guilty or indebted for her sacrifices, shifting my responsibility to manage her emotional comfort. This tactic attempts to assign me the role of caretaker for her feelings, stifling my ability to speak freely about my experiences.

Conditional care and parentification impose a profound emotional debt on survivors, entangling them in a sense of responsibility for their abuser’s comfort and happiness.

Shaming and Minimizing My Identity

The comment further undermines my identity, beginning with, “You have selected now to use this name, Vesna, which was an orphanage name for a little girl that nobody there cared about.” This line dismisses my choice to embrace my birth name, implying it is unworthy or even shameful. It suggests that my heritage and identity are of lesser value because they didn’t originate from her. The use of my birth name, in her view, has no merit because it lacks her approval, diminishing an essential part of my self-discovery.

Further statements like, “I am hoping that one day you can get past all the anger and bitterness and live a life without all that hatred” frame my emotions as flaws, implying that my pain and lingering hurt are “anger” or “bitterness.” The line, “The Bible teaches bitterness is poor for a person’s health. It would be a shame for you to find yourself in an early grave because you could never get past hatred and bitterness,” seems manipulative and dismissive. It implies that any anger or negative feelings I might have due to past trauma or injustice are unwarranted or excessive, framing my response as harmful to myself rather than addressing the underlying issues.

This kind of statement can be hurtful because it invalidates my feelings and places the burden of “forgiveness” or “moving on” entirely on me without acknowledging the impact of the actions that led to these feelings. This use of religious manipulation attempts to control my response by framing it as a spiritual failure. Instead of offering understanding or accountability, it uses a religious reference as a means of control, suggesting that any unresolved emotions are my problem rather than a consequence of the situation I’ve experienced.

Dismissing identity and shaming survivors for their emotions undermine their journey of self-discovery and healing, casting their feelings as flaws rather than valid responses to trauma.

Challenging My Courage: An Attempt to Undermine and Intimidate

Finally, she closes with, “I hope you have the courage to post this,” as though my courage is in question. It’s a subtle challenge, framed to imply that if I don’t share her version of events, I must be hiding something or too afraid to confront the “truth.” This comment is another manipulation tactic designed to make me doubt my sincerity and integrity. She’s testing my boundaries, suggesting it reflects poorly on me if I don’t comply. But I’ve learned I don’t need to prove anything to her over the years. Deciding what comments to approve is my right, and I can set boundaries without feeling guilty or questioning my perspective. This tactic attempts to paint me as dishonest or lacking integrity, using the guise of “courage” to cast doubt on my honesty. But real courage isn’t about validating someone else’s distorted reality; it’s about staying true to my experiences and standing firm in my account, regardless of intimidation. By reclaiming my voice, I am reclaiming my story from those who would rewrite it. True courage lies in honoring my perspective and setting boundaries that protect my well-being.

Contextualizing My Experiences in Response to Her Claims

In my previous article on Munchausen by Proxy, I aimed to shed light on a pattern of behavior I’d experienced firsthand. This wasn’t just about my encounters; I also witnessed one of my siblings endure invasive medical treatments based on our adoptive mother’s claims of a supposed illness. Even doctors and family members questioned the diagnosis she insisted upon, suggesting it could be something else, like a functional neurological disorder (FND). FND is a condition where people experience neurological symptoms—such as weakness, movement issues, or blackouts—not because of physical brain damage but because of a problem with how the nervous system functions. It’s often described as a ‘software’ issue in the brain rather than a ‘hardware’ problem, meaning that while the brain’s signals might misfire, there’s no visible injury. This condition can be triggered by an underlying neurological disorder or as a reaction to stress, psychological factors, or even physical trauma. Yet, her fixation on a specific diagnosis was unyielding. Acknowledging an alternative could have meant facing her role in my sibling’s deteriorating health—an admission she seemed unwilling to make.

At one point, my sibling, who is married, had to separate from their spouse for months to pursue these treatments in another state, along with a GoFundMe page set up to cover the costs. Instead of their spouse halting their education to step in and support their significant other, our mother took control, dictating all medical decisions and remaining resolute in her belief that she knew the precise cause of my sibling’s symptoms, despite medical skepticism. She was confident she recognized the signs, just as she had in my case.

This ongoing denial of alternative possibilities in favor of self-diagnosis has implications beyond mere disagreement; it shows a pattern of control and disregard for professional advice, all cloaked in the guise of care. Yet, my adoptive mother frequently dismisses my experiences as “baseless and fictional accusations,” insisting, “We don’t expect any sort of gratitude or appreciation for the work, time, and money it cost to bring you to the United States, but maybe you could at least slow down on some of your baseless and fictional accusations.”

But my experiences and what I’ve observed my sibling endure contradict her claims. By sharing these stories, I hope to convey the reality survivors face—how our experiences are manipulated, our truths undermined, and our voices often silenced. This isn’t an exaggeration or mere accusation; it’s about revealing the truth in the face of a long-standing pattern of control and invalidation.

In sharing these life experiences, I aim to bring to light the manipulative tactics so often used to control and invalidate survivors, especially in public discussions surrounding trauma. In revealing these patterns, I hope we become more determined and committed to challenging the silence that has allowed these behaviors to go unchecked for too long.